


Mercy Kill

by DistantStorm



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, The Red War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 02:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: A tricky situation forces Suraya Hawthorne to make a decision that unsettles the group of Lightless Guardians that accompany her team.





	Mercy Kill

It’s been an absolutely horrible day.

What was supposed to be a simple task - a grab ‘n go - turned into a nightmare. The Fallen were onto them like they were the sweetest Ether in the galaxy. One of the Guardians forgot that they’re not actually immortal anymore -  _yes, that Marauder's shiv will kill you, Warlock_  - and of course, one of her scouts pushes the newly Lightless guardian out of the way and takes the hit.

The woman’s disemboweled and laying on the ground, the fighting around them now under control. With the Fallen dealt with, the put-together group of warriors are surrounding her, some crouched and trying to assess her, others standing back with shaking fists and tears in their eyes.

Behind her, she feels eyes evaluating her every move. She’s been feeling this way since Commander Zavala graced them with his presence back on Earth a week ago. She’s sure he’s sent an abundance of Titans to spy on her. Zavala doesn’t trust her, that much is clear. The feeling is mutual.

From the ground, the woman picks up her head, trying to form words. She’s grabbing at her entrails. It’s horrific. The Guardians aren’t used to futility. She’s heard from some that they’ll end it themselves and let their Ghosts put them back to rights. Or at least, that’s what they did, before.

She feels bad for the Warlock. For all of the wayward souls who’ve lost their Light. They’ve tried to describe it to her, and she’s gotten the general idea that it was a crushing, burning feeling, like losing half of yourself. She feels especially bad, because the Warlock is screaming and sobbing on her knees beside the felled woman, meanwhile the felled woman is trying to tell her it’s alright.

Suraya regards the fallen fighter a woman only by choice. The girl is barely of age. She’s lost her brother and her uncle to this war, to the Cabal, in the City. She knew what she was doing, but it still stings. Suraya sighs. Death isn’t going to be quick, rather, it will be long and painful. Hawthorne clears her throat, and the thirty-some warriors part to make room for her to walk toward the girl.

“Suraya,” She whispers, holding up a hand.  _“Please.”_

She can hear the whispers begin. Her people know how this ends. They bite their lips and look away. She closes her eyes, gives herself two seconds to be composed.

Opens them. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” The nod is barely a tilt of her head, and she’s convulsing, shaking. “Out with a bang, not a whimper.”

From beside her, the Warlock throws off her helmet and yells, “You cannot be-”

From the base of her spine, on her belt, Suraya Hawthorne draws a sidearm with Hunter-like reflex and puts a bullet between her eyes. Death is immediate. As painless as she can allow.

“MURDERER!” The Warlock screams as blood splatters across her face, paying no heed to the fact that they are in hostile territory and her shout could very well give away their location. The female Guardian grabs at her shoulders and shakes her. “How could you?!”

Suraya closes her eyes and opens them back up. Steps out of the Warlock’s hold. “It’s murder, yes,” She tucks the smoking sidearm back to its place on her waist. “But it’s mercy. She was going to die a slow, painful death otherwise. No matter what.”

“You don’t know that. We could have tried to help her! Your kind are the one constantly screaming about triage stations!”

Around them, the defining line between Zavala’s people and Hawthorne’s is becoming crystal clear. Those not blessed with the light - ever, it begs to be said - are quiet and still. The refugee Guardians are murmuring amongst themselves, and it sounds like there’s to be a mutiny. A quick glance behind her gives a view of a Titan with arms closed. Silently judging, she supposes. She wonders if he’d kill her, if he thinks of her as a threat. Would Zavala have the guts to execute that order, she wonders.

“You know,” Another Guardian cuts in, moving to stand beside the disgruntled Warlock. He’s another Titan, based on his battered armor. Human, too. He’s taken off his helm. “She’s not even a Guardian,” He says. “We don’t have to listen to her.”

The Guardians begin to grow more irritated and disgruntled and she can feel the rift between them grow. The discouraged murmurings on both sides creep to a dull roar.

“ENOUGH!” Suraya commands with enough authority to bring everyone to silence.

From the back, behind the civilian leader, Commander Zavala stands in borrowed armor, scuffed and white, frozen to the spot.

“Guardians, Guardians,  _Guardians!_  All you people talk about are Guardians. Is she not a Guardian?” Suraya points at the body. Her voice is raised, but it’s controlled. The whispering ceases. “Look at me, all of you.” She turns in a full circle, daring them all to make eye contact. None of them answer. “You. Warlock. Is she not a Guardian? She died for you.”

The Warlock bristled. “No. She died because  _you_ -”

“I have put bullets in the heads of more Guardians than I care to count. The ones who died in there-” She motions to the fence a few hundred feet away that separates the wilds from the city. “They are the ones who cradled their dead Ghosts in their hands and begged me to end it because the Cabal play with their food. Because they were left to die a slow, excruciating death.” Her amber eyes flash almost green with fury. “Do you think me a murderer for allowing someone the dignity of compassion, for giving them mercy at the end?” She looks around again, being sure to give the seedy Titan behind her a good look at her before she turns back to the Warlock and Titan beside the girl’s body.

Zavala wonders if she knows its him. He took every precaution to ensure she did not know his identity.

“That’s fine,” She concedes, when no one answers. “I know what I am. But she, she was a barely-grown girl who knew what she stood to lose when she took a blade meant for you. Regardless of how she died.” Hawthorne continues, “Answer my question. Is she not a Guardian?”

“She never had any Light,” Comes a small voice from the back. Zavala recognizes a slender Hunter.

Suraya has her back to them. She leans down to the deceased, and closes her open eyes gently. She stands back up and sighs. “No, no she didn’t. And right now, neither do you.” She pauses, licks her lips and continues. “So technically, by your own definition, none of you are Guardians.” There were murmurs of protest at that.

Still rooted to the spot, the commander thought of his own words.  _Without the light, are we even Guardians anymore?_  It echoed in his mind, rattling around with all his other worries about this war and humanity. He had yet to come up with an answer. Was that how these survivors saw them? These people whom they protected? Did they consider them useless without the Traveler’s gifts?

She cleared her throat as the volume crested again. “Wanna know what I think? If you’ve got a gun, and you want to fight for this speck of dirt we’re on, congratulations. You’re a Guardian We are the last hope. We are the  _ONLY_  hope. The light doesn’t matter right now. We do.”

The human Titan scoffs. “How can you say that? We need the Traveler! We can't succeed without the Traveler!”

“Did anybody ever think that we might have to return the favor someday? I know I wasn't paying attention in school, but last time I checked we’ve become the envy of all these alien races because it left them, ignored them, didn't choose them... like it chose us. You gonna choose it back or should it do all the work for you? Are you Lightless the real deities? Did I miss something here?”

A shriek from Louis makes her look up, and without thought she drops her sniper rifle over her shoulder. She looks up as he makes another wide sweep. The enemy will be on to them soon if they are not already.

“Look. You don't like me? Fine. You don't like my methods? That's okay too. But I would grant each and everyone of you the right to a compassionate death, to know that even for a second of your existence, someone cared about you enough not to let you be dragged by your hair through the city streets by their hounds or leave you eviscerated, dying slowly while your bile burns what's left of your organs. I care. You're welcome.” She casts her gaze in a wide circle once more. “Now, if you don't want to fight the good fight, you can find your own way back to the Farm. The rest of us  _Guardians_  have work to do.”

The Warlock reaches for her gun. “You’re right,” She admits quietly, taking a step toward Hawthorne. “She was a Guardian. I-I’m sorry.” A poncho-hooded head bobs, accepting of the apology.

The Titan balks. “You can’t tell me you’re going to fight with her,” He says in disbelief. He looks around. The rest of them are ready to fight. He shakes his head. “This is ridiculous! She’s got no idea what it means-”

A heavy hand on his shoulder nearly bends the metal of his battered armor armor. “She has every idea what it means,” A firm voice behind a white helm says with scorching heat.

“C-commander?” The group recoils at the realization that Zavala is among them.

Suraya regards the titan in all white. He removes his helmet. Really, the color washes him out, but she’s not about to tell him so. There he is, the Vanguard Commander, standing there in a weird set of armor, having just witnessed the acting leader of the Farm get accused of murder by one of his own. Grand.

The other Titan, who has been vocal in his protest of Hawthorne’s command looks stupefied. “Sir, you have to understand, you watched her kill that girl. She admitted to killing Guardians!”

“This is war, soldier. Buck up.” He looks around at the group, everyone’s gaze on him. “The intricacies of war are not for the faint of heart, and unpleasant decisions must be made and made swiftly,” He imparts sagely. “The Vanguard stands with Hawthorne.”

Hawthorne nods to him, refusing to process what that means for her right then. He nods back, and strides her way.

“Your orders?”

“We’ll cut into the City up ahead. There will be a gap in the wall large enough to get through. We get the cache, we turn back quick. If we do it right, there will be no combat.”

He nods, and takes a step back. The rest of the group follows behind.


End file.
